


A Roman Holiday

by TwoForATable (AliSimAlice)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliSimAlice/pseuds/TwoForATable
Summary: Harry Potter has been traveling nonstop around the world for almost twenty years, taking in its mysteries and wonders but deep down searching for a place to call home. Former Minister of Magic Hermione Granger left everyone and everything behind to start anew in Italy, to learn to appreciate life and the little things again, to practice Italian and relish her books once more. Two old friends meet after many years for Christmas and this Roman Holiday might just be what they needed to take the next step.





	1. The anticipation

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my Beta, Coffee reveries for the help in writing and for letting me take inspiration from an old story of hers. Buon Natale!

_Rome, December 18 th, 2018_

 

It was still dark out as she rose from the sofa, her back aching and her head throbbing from exhaustion and stress. Winter season was supposed to make one feel lazy, want to mingle much longer under the soft and warm covers, curl up with a nice book or watching episodes of a favorite muggle television show, that had been on the ‘to watch’ list for far too long. Winter should be for snuggling with a loved one and making love as well. It should be about family, friends, being content and being together. Four years of Rome and she was still living in the same little flat with the tiny courtyard, paintings bought in street fairs and flea markets scattered about, bringing life and color to the rooms. Here were the same scented candles she seldom lit because they'd been gifts; piles and piles of old journals, muggle pens, quills, and ink as well as newspapers and photographs on top of every surface. Bookshelves covered almost every wall and her bed hadn’t felt her weight or her warmth since last week because she simply could not sleep… The anticipation was too great.

 

Hermione slipped her feet into the fluffy slippers that had wormed their way underneath the coffee table and twisted her curls upheld with her wand. She rose from the sofa headed for the kitchen where she put the kettle on. As she turned toward the refrigerator to retrieve the carton of milk, she heard something knock against her glass window. Turning around she caught sight of a snowy owl, Heidi, her best friend’s owl who would stop by every once in a while, carrying in a letter or postcard from her master. She pulled the window open and the beautiful creature flew in, circling her kitchen a few times before landing gracefully on top of Hermione’s countertop. The witch opened a small jar laying on her shelf and pulled out a treat for the owl before untying the folded piece of parchment attached to her leg.

 

When Hermione received the letter, she had expected him to tell him of his newest adventure and the place he was currently visiting in the world, maybe Tibet or Honduras, perhaps even the Fiji Islands or Vancouver, Canada. She hadn’t at all been expecting what he relayed in his message and now her anxiety doubled, tripled even.

 

Harry would be in Rome the very next day and intended to spend Christmas with her, just the two of them. The kettle whistled like mad in the background and the owl eyed her quizzically with those yellowy eyes, but she didn’t even notice. Harry would be here tomorrow, they would meet again after four years that had passed far too quickly for her liking and the brightest witch of her generation and former Minister of Magic to the United Kingdom hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do with herself.

 

* * * *

 

It was his last day in Mexico and Harry Potter was certain he’d miss the place. The colors, the people, the spices, the sunshine, the history as rich as the embroideries on the traditional dresses and the gold of the Spanish churches… He’d always felt at home in Mexico, one of his favorite places on Earth and he’d traveled a great deal in the past twenty years, seen many a sight and met countless amazing people. As he stared at his reflection in the mirror of his hotel room, nervously unbuttoning the collar of his light blue linen shirt and slipping it off. He imagined she would be receiving his letter this exact moment. It was nighttime in Oaxaca and after an entire day of scavenging markets and shops in search of the perfect gifts for her with just the help of an old borrowed bike, he began to feel the familiar butterflies in his stomach, signaling that tomorrow he’d be in a different place and most importantly he’d be with her. Four years, he realized, was long enough for her to have made up her mind already and although brilliant, capable and focused, Hermione Granger could also be a master procrastinator if she put her mind to it. Harry was well aware they weren’t getting any younger, hell, they were both nearly forty already, if the white hairs sprouting midst the black of his hair weren’t indication enough. He entered the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower, prepared to wash away all of the dust, sweat and anxiety of today. Tomorrow he would see her again and he couldn’t wait… The nervous excitement was so great he even sang as the water splashed over his head, he didn’t know the words but the melody was from a love ballad he’d heard on the radio somewhere and la-dee-das were all he could manage.

 

* * * *

 

After recovering from her initial surprise and finally downing her morning coffee with toast and honey, Hermione looked around the mess that was now her flat. It wasn’t typical of her, to be so careless and unorganized, but the past week she had felt like she was stuck in a limbo of not knowing and it seemed to wipe away any energy and motivation she may have otherwise had, but oddly enough it had also left her unable to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. So far, all she’d really been doing was eat, lay around, watch television halfheartedly and once a day make the way down to her courtyard still clad in pajamas and robe, despite the cool weather to water her plants, though they looked very much dried and dead, as was typical of the winter season.

 

Despite all of this, the prospect of his arrival and so very sudden filled her with a giddiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. She ran back inside the kitchen and opened the cupboard door taking out the cleaning cloth, broom and bucket, filling it with water and lavender-scented detergent. She went about cleaning, dusting and putting away books, papers, and all things out of place in an organized and alphabetized fashion with the help of her wand and some useful spells learned years ago with Mrs. Weasley and before she knew it, most of the work had been finished before noon.

 

Hermione changed the blankets on her bed and the one in the guest bedroom/office as well, loaded the washer and like any truly good Italian housewife beat the dust off of her rugs outside the window. Finally, she returned to the kitchen and decided the gray of the cabinets were far too unflattering. She put on her winter coat, boots and crochet scarf, strapped on her leather satchel and made her way to the local shop for construction supplies where she bought a can of paint, some rolls, and brushes. She bid signor Vicenzo _buon pomeriggio_ and scurried off, a woman on a mission. She passed by the bakery, the irresistible smell of fresh warm bread calling out to her and bought two large loaves for home. Before making the turn to enter her street she stopped by the little street fair and bought cheese, smoked salami, vegetables and fruits to stock inside her fridge. She imagined Harry might arrive hungry and she didn’t want to risk them crossing a blizzard to find anyplace to eat in. The weather this time of year could be so unpredictable…

 

As she passed the ancient carved wood and red painted door of her building, she came face to face with her upstairs neighbor.

 

“ _Ciao, Carmella!_ ” Hermione called with a smile and the elderly lady with gray curls escaping her head covered in a silk floral scarf smiled hugely at the sight of _la Inglesa_ , as they called her. Deep red painted lips pecked each of Hermione’s cheeks.

 

“ _Buonasera, ‘E_ rminia _!_ Shopping for Christmas?” She asked upon seeing the loads of bags and packages the witch carried. Hermione shook her head with a smile. She’d given up on any of her Italian friends being able to say her name properly, so 'Erminia' it was.

 

“Not yet. An old friend of mine will be visiting for the holidays, I’ll be sure to introduce him to you.” The older woman smiled and nodded.

 

“Will you be decorating any time soon? It’s almost _Natale_!” Hermione groaned internally because indeed it was just around the corner and she had lost track of time.

 

“I will tomorrow, today I’m cleaning.” Carmella nodded and patted her shoulder.

 

“ _Devo anda_ _re, tesoro, parliamo più tardi_ (I have to go, darling, we’ll talk later)”, the two exchanged another pair of kisses on the cheek and Hermione’s neighbor and friend made her way to the building’s main entrance.

 

“ _Ce_ _rto, buona giornata, Carmella!_ (All right, have a nice day, Carmella)” Hermione called from her apartment’s door.

 

“ _G_ _razie, tesoro, anche tu!_ ” Carmella responded with a wave, her keys already in her hands, shutting the door behind her.

 

As Hermione walked inside her flat, looking tidier than it did in weeks, Hermione immediately felt lighter. She lay her purchases on top of the wooden kitchen table and hung her coat behind a chair. With a flourish of her wand, the music player began spinning and the high sound of Etta James’ magnificent voice wafted throughout her little home. With a simple spell, all of her cupboard doors were scrubbed clean and ready for the splash of new color and burgundy it would be.

 

Later that night and after having drawn a nice relaxing bath with lavender scented bubbles and the company of a book and chamomile tea, Hermione even managed to sleep a few hours, physically tired as she was from preparing her home for him.

 

Heidi the owl was smart enough to stay and sat perched serenely on the back of the armchair in the corner of Hermione’s bedroom. She knew very well her master would be arriving tomorrow and it was no use flying back to Mexico tonight.

 

The words written in his letter echoed in her mind even in the land of dreams:

 

_He_ _rmione,_

_I’ll be in_ _Rome tomorrow evening to spend Christmas. Mexico has been a delight, as always, but I’m anxious to see the Coliseum and the Vatican buildings in the snow, and you most of all. Stock up on the wine!_

_Missing you as always,_

_Harry_


	2. The arrival

_Rome, December 19 th, 2018_

Hermione practically jumped at the sound of three knocks on her door from the spot between the kitchen and living room area that she’d been nervously pacing around. It was 6 o’clock in the evening and it was already dark outside, yellow lights floating from neighboring window glasses and neon signs hanging about her old but nevertheless busy street. Shops were still open because it was Christmas week and tourists and Italians alike were doing their holiday shopping.

 

She stopped in front of the mirror for a second to take one last look at herself and arrange her curls, straighten her skirt. She wore an antique silver hair brooch with pretty flowers which she had picked up on one of her many trips to flea markets here in Rome and she hoped he wouldn’t notice just how much effort she had put into looking presentable for him. Fashion had never been her forte and living outside of the public gaze here had made her relax too much in terms of her appearance.

 

She sighed heavily before turning towards the door and opening it wide for him, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

 

“ _’Mione…_ ” He whispered upon seeing her, his lips twisting into that lopsided grin that always drove her crazy, staring at her from those bright and shining Emerald eyes hidden behind the round spectacles.

 

Before Hermione could utter a single word, he had captured her by surprise within his arms, pulling her against him and burying his face in the crook of her neck, warm breath touching the sensitive spot below her ear and causing her to shiver ever so slightly. He was _here_. Blood rushed to her cheeks and it wasn’t because of the cold weather.

She hugged him back, finally recovering from the impact of his presence but the embrace was parted far too soon.

 

“It’s beautiful outside…” He told her with a smile. He’d aged quite a bit since she’d seen him last in Morocco four years ago. His skin had been tanned back then due to their days by the sea and exploring the desert. Now, charming wrinkles adorned the corners of both his eyes and creased his forehead somewhat and white hairs contrasted against his raven locks. She rather liked the gruff beard he wore, as though he hadn’t shaved in a week or two. It fit him in a way that she had never imagined a beard could.

 

She blushed crimson upon noticing his eyes on her. She’d been staring at him for far too long and they were still standing in the hallway like two idiots.

 

“Please, come inside…” She opened the door wider and let him through, shutting it behind them. All he had with him was a large camping backpack which had been charmed to weigh close to nothing. 20 years of traveling and she knew perfectly well that he could fit his entire life in that one bag, just like she had charmed the little blue sequined purse during the war… Hermione still kept it around, somewhere deep inside her wooden wardrobe, a memento of her youth and all the danger and adventure they had been through that now led them to this moment. “Anyway, this is my humble abode.” She motioned with her arm at the small but cozy flat. The walls were whitewashed as was common in ancient buildings such as this one, that had been standing since the 19th century. Her living area consisted of a large and comfortable looking cream sofa with countless throw pillows of different colors, shapes, and patterns that she had bought in several of her own travels. The wooden coffee table was large and circular and boasted intricate carvings that Harry recognized as being typical of India. A few books sat on top as well as a glass jar with a scented candle and an abandoned mug of tea that she must have been sipping out of before his arrival. The wall that the sofa faced had a small black fireplace which wasn’t too different from the ones in London townhouses and flats and on the mantelpiece were several picture frames, some photographs of Hermione through the years, surrounded by the places she’d visited, but others contained colorful pieces of art and postcards. Harry looked at them more closely and recognized them as being from him. One from Nepal, another from Berlin, another postcard from Alaska when he traveled to see the Aurora Borealis and one last postcard from Tangier, in Morocco, the very place they had been together last. He knew that the specific card wouldn’t have anything written on the back, there hadn’t been time.

 

An upright green piano stood proudly against the wall next to the fireplace with a crochet cloth covering its box, a small stack of music books, a vase with red tulips and a large frame containing a photograph of Hermione with her smiling parents, by the look of it taken rather recently.

 

The flat was warm and cozy and had Hermione Granger written all over it, from the shades of the colors, the shelves and more shelves of books, the arts and crafts she had collected over the years everywhere and many photographs. A life well lived.

 

“This looks like you.” He commented, turning to look at her, his eyes piercing through hers. She shrugged and smiled, motioning with her head toward the hallway.

 

“Back there is my kitchen, I’m in there a lot…” She patted her belly as if to prove a point and he chuckled rolling his eyes.

 

“You’ve never been fat in your life, witch.” She smiled too and he followed her into the hallway. One side of the walls was just shelves of books, top to bottom, so high that there was a ladder attached that she could roll back and forth. The other side was more portraits, paintings and picture frames of different styles, shapes, and colors, nailed to the wall without much method, but with a lot of love as though she felt comfort from looking at all of them rather than keeping them hidden away inside albums one would seldom open. Two wooden doors were on that side and Hermione explained the first was her bedroom and the one next to it the large bath clawfoot tub right in the middle. The last door was hidden between two of the bookshelves and he’d nearly missed it. When she opened the door wide, she pulled him by the hand inside. The room was large and had two big windows with a view of a courtyard. In the middle was a Victorian iron bed with immaculate white bedding, on top of a large Turkish rug. To the left by the window was a large wooden desk with comfortable chair, a lamp, a mug full with pencils, pens, and quills, large drawers probably bursting full with her papers and files. To the right was a large arched wardrobe of dark wood with mirrors on the doors. The walls were very much bare excluding a large world map hanging behind the bed, tacks and pens marking specific locations.

 

“And this is your room…” Harry looked at the map in awe and she stood next to him facing it.

 

“I’ve been tracking your itinerary the past few years…”

 

“You mean the past twenty years.” He corrected, his finger indicating a green pin over the name ‘Ecuador’. Hermione sighed.

 

“Does it scare you?” She asked honestly, looking at him curiously.

 

“No. No, it doesn’t… I just never expected this, from anyone really.” His eyes landed onto hers and he took her hand in his like they had done so many times before. “Maybe that’s why I always feel your presence with me…” His voice was deep with emotion and disconcerted the way she was she looked away, shyly.

 

It hadn’t always been like this between them, she never had trouble telling him things before, there wasn’t this silly shyness before… but since Morocco, hell, since Barcelona she always felt hyper-aware of herself when in his presence, calculating her every move, her every word and silence.

 

He cleared his throat and lay his backpack carefully on the foot of the bed.

 

“It’s lovely outside, ‘Mi. Shall we take a walk? I want to see Rome at night, covered in snow.” She nodded silently. “Merlin, I haven’t seen a white Christmas in so long…”

 

“I’ll fetch my coat.”

 

* * * * *

 

They walked quietly, side by side, their arms brushing every once in a while, and each time his breath would hitch. He wanted so badly to hold her hand, wrap his arm around her for everyone to see they belonged. But he knew her, far too well even, and relationships just about scared her to death. He would tread lightly with her until she felt just as ready as him.

 

Harry watched as the old buildings, each one glued to the other contrasted against the yellow lights of the street lamps. The road she lived on was narrow and paved with stones and most of the shop fronts were already decorated for the season with wreaths, poinsettias, ribbons and strings of light. They passed a small _piazza_ on via Sant’Anna delle Fratte, a newspaper stall proudly in front of the small church’s entrance. It was Wednesday night and as they passed from inside could hear the sounds of people reciting a prayer in unison.

 

Hermione was lucky enough to live in the heart of Rome, he realized. Where both the old world and ancient charm met and everything felt at the same time grand and like one big home. He knew from observing a city map very briefly that she was in short walking distance from the Roman forum, the Piazza di Venezia, some of the famous churches, museums and monuments.  The night sky was clear and blue, no clouds and no moon. As they walked, they passed a pizzeria which was little more than a door, wooden tables covering the sidewalk and people eating, drinking and talking in different languages, though Italian was what he could hear the most.

 

“Where are we going exactly?” He asked her and she smiled, a glimmer in her eyes.

 

“Via del Corso, to see the Christmas lights. If you behave, Mr. Potter, we might even pass the _Fontana di Trevi_ on our way back.” He chuckled and enjoyed seeing her more at ease with every minute that passed. She was at home, in her element, and he loved seeing her like this, natural, witty, her wild golden-brown curls blowing in the breeze, her cheeks rosy from the cold and the corner of her lips curving in the faintest of smiles.

 

A few more twists and turns and they arrived at their destination. The street in question was a very long one, surrounded on both sides by buildings in the Renaissance, baroque and 19th-century architectural styles. It was packed with people, old and young, locals and tourists. Exquisite lights forming a rainbow canopied the entire Via dal Corso until it ended on Palazzo di Venezia in magnificent colors. It was breathtaking. So much life in one place, so much hope and faith for the future in everyone’s expressions. They walked amidst the crowd and at one point Hermione pulled him by the wrist into a shop that more looked like Santa Claus’ toy factory from all of the elaborate decorations.

 

“What’s this?” Hermione grinned like a child in a candy shop.

 

When he turned around his eyes caught sight of shelves of bottles of wine and displays of chocolate fountain and candies. It was a candy shop in a way, but one much more suited for the older kids. Harry saw an older gentleman wearing green overalls with red and white striped shirt underneath selling fruits in a cup covered with chocolate, he couldn’t resist. He pulled Hermione into the line with him and gladly waited for twenty minutes until it was his turn and Merlin how it was worth it. Hermione bought her own as well, with strawberries, while his were delicious sour green grapes that contrasted with the chocolate.

 

“Are you ready for dinner, signore?” She asked him with a smile as they exited the chocolaterie.

“But we just ate dessert!”

 

“So, what?” She laced her fingers in his and tugged at his arm for them to keep on going. “I need to show you Dino’s Trattoria, it’ll blow your mind.” He would never object to her locals’ expertise so followed her into an even narrower street a few steps ahead. It was dark aside for some yellow balls of light attached to the stone walls of some buildings and though Via del Corso was full of people, the little street was very much abandoned. They arrived at an ornate iron kissing gate with ivy growing up its tall sign. _‘Vicolo di Nebbia’_ engraved in cursive silver letters on black paint.

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“Alley of Mist or Alley of Fog…” Hermione pulled her wand out of her coat’s pocket and tapped on the gate three times. It opened slowly and as it did a combination of music, aromas of delicious foods and herbs, as well as voices of many kinds, invaded their senses. They were directly under an arched passageway with vines and sweet-smelling lilac colored flowers hanging over their heads. The stone walls had light torches on either side in intervals and after a short walk, they began to notice more and more people, wizards, elves, goblins all of them doing their own holiday shopping and enjoying the wonderful evening.

 

Shops encircled a stone-paved piazza with marble fountain sprouting water in the center. Tables and more tables held wizards and creatures alike dining and drinking under the stars.

 

“This is Rome’s Diagon Alley equivalent, I gather?” Hermione nodded. They sat on a roundtable for two while on a small stage a singer and a small band with pianist sang what sounded like jazz, but it was definitely in Italian. Some couples, old and young, as well as families with children, danced and swayed to the music near it, while others sang along to familiar songs from their tables or clapped between one song and the other.

“Would it be silly if I told you this place was magical?” Harry laughed and their eyes met once more.

 

“I suppose it does have its charm…” Hermione rolled her eyes and did not respond him, instead raising her arm to call for a waiter. A young man of deep brown eyes and curls arrived, sporting a notebook and quill, a smile widening on his face as he caught sight of the customer calling. Even Harry could see just how handsome he was. Tall, sunkissed skin, taut muscles and full lips… “Dario, come va?”

 

“Benissimo, Erminia! Buonasera!” He handed Harry and Hermione a menu each and flashed her a smile that was beginning to put a gray cloud over the older wizard whose evening until now had gone extremely well. He failed to hid the scowl on his face from not knowing a word of the Italian and detesting how familiar and at ease, his best friend seemed to be with the waiter boy. “Molto piacere, sono Dario.” He said, extending his hand toward Harry. The green-eyed Gryffindor shook his hand reluctantly and nodded, while Hermione watched the ridiculous display with amusement.

 

“Harry, a pleasure to meet.”

 

“Dario, I would like two of today’s special and that red wine you know I love, please.” He wrote it all down and excused himself before Hermione’s hand grazed against his on top of the table, catching his attention. “Careful, Potter, you’re turning as green as lettuce.” She wore a sassy smirk on her face and her brown eyes twinkled, catching Harry off guard.

 

“Is he always that…”

 

“Smooth and sexy?” She completed, interrupting him. Harry rolled his eyes.

 

Out of thin air appeared two glasses of wine and a bottle of five-year-old Carmenere in front of them that Harry promptly poured for the two and took the first large swig of.

 

“Dario’s Italian, Harry, he just can’t help it.” Hermione explained, “Besides if I were interested in young men like _that_ , I would have shagged you silly a long time ago.” Harry choked on his wine and all but spit it out. “Not my type, honestly…”

 

Those words echoed in Harry’s mind and suddenly he lost all conviction.

 

 

 


	3. The aurora

_December 20th, 2018_

 

At around three o’clock in the morning, Harry stood in her large tiled bathroom, facing his reflection on the oval mirror. He wasn't the type who stalled or became nervous toward a woman, at least he hadn’t been in recent years. Despite his two decades of nonstop travels, his life consisted of a basic routine: in the morning he would leave for what he called 'work', visiting and seeing the sites, snapping photographs and compiling notes that would become tour guides for wizards. Later he would hit a pub or one of those fancy dance type restaurants have a few drinks and accompany a pretty young woman to her apartment or a hotel room. Afterward, when the deed would have been done and they'd fall asleep he would leave into the night. No strings attached had become his modus operandi. But never with Hermione Granger.

 

He didn't know how much of his tragic love life Hermione knew, despite their closeness and many years of friendship. It was still something he kept entirely to himself. But she was a smart woman and had always been able to decipher him better than others. Perhaps deep down he'd always been afraid that she would discover him to be a shallow human being, uninteresting, unfulfilled, unhappy... She made him insecure like that without even trying.

 

He'd been married once, it was brief and ended as fast as it began. When he met Milena, a beautiful Croatian woman with a smile that could blow any trouble away and silky blonde hair that cascaded down her back like elegant drapes he thought it had been love. Just two months after they met, they were wed in a Zagreb cathedral with only her family present because he had none. In retrospect, he wondered why on Earth he didn't invite his oldest friends from back home, surely they would come. The Weasley's, his godson Teddy along with Andromeda, old mates from school, and of course Hermione. Maybe it was because deep down he knew their match wasn't meant to be from the start. 

 

A month after their wedding she revealed to him they were expecting. Excitement and sheer happiness blinded him momentarily from the little things, like the fact that he barely knew anything about his wife, or that he was making a mistake... Milena was smart and perfect and exquisite, but she wasn't the woman for him. But he was already married and had already made a vow, even if in Croatian which he spoke and understood very poorly. Wedding vows were the same in just about all of the western world anyway. The happiness and expectation that he would become a father, that he would finally get the family he always longed for, it was strong enough to keep him wrapped up in his unhealthy illusion. In December, a week before Christmas his son had been born. It had been a home birth, relatively short and uncomplicated and his boy was the most beautiful sight to behold. More beautiful than the Indonesian ocean and its crystalline blue; more beautiful than the dense green of tropical forests that pulsed with life. They named him Alexander, a rather big name for such a small and delicate thing... His and Milena's bliss lasted short, however, and a visit with the healers for a checkup revealed a heart defect that affected his son's growth and blood flow. Not even all the magic in the world could cure the child and surgery in a muggle hospital had been their last resort. At 63 days old baby Alexander died in his parents' arms and their marriage died along with him. He felt the weight of his son's premature passing every day in his heart, the boy would be ten years old now, but he also felt the deep failure that came from divorce. For not being strong, resilient and persistent enough. For not loving Milena enough, for her not having loved him enough for them to move on and heal together. If anything, this latest bit of tragedy in his life served to make him see things more clearly and with that reckoning came the certainty that it hadn't been meant to be.

 

The love and life he had dreamed of living with Milena and their son had been beautiful, but that love and life hadn't been true or sincere enough to last. It was so for Hermione however and that certainty had dawned on him on a warm beach day in Morocco four years ago, when they had both bumped into each other at a market in Tangier, one of the many machinations of fate. They had kissed in the sunset and he had felt at home beside her, like all of the broken pieces of his heart had been restored and he could breathe again and feel hope.

 

Harry stood in silence, pensive, white bathroom tiles had never been so entertaining. He knew she was downstairs, with her beautiful mane of curls waiting for him to arrive so they could begin to set up the Christmas tree. Waiting to scrutinize him and judge him with those big brown eyes. What could she be thinking downstairs? That he looked awful, that he'd put on some weight, that he could never compare to the likes of the Italian waiter boy, Dario? That Harry was hopeless and unredeemable? How could she have once loved him, given him a chance? Moreover, how could he have once thrown away the chance she had given him?

 

Thirty-nine years old and this was his life now. He hid away in women's bathrooms because he was a coward and so utterly broken. How could he possibly face such a beautiful, amazing woman and expect her to love him and want him like he loved and wanted her? He had been a fool for coming here, for harboring hope after all these years, it was as she said earlier, he wasn’t her type. Had it ever been possible for them to be more than friends he would have never let her go.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry crossed the hallway and entered the living area a good hour later. Hermione sat with a glass of wine on her wooden table, facing him, Christmas music playing in the background through her muggle record player, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin or something of the sort.

 

He already wore an old t-shirt and his flannel plaid pajama pants, his dark hair still damp, but he didn’t mind because the heater was on in the apartment and she had turned on the fireplace.

 

“Did I take too long?” Harry asked her and she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

 

“I thought that maybe you had drowned in my tub. I was sitting here wondering just how in Merlin’s name I was to explain to the local Aurors, healers, and press that the boy-who-lived, the man-who-conquered could possibly drown in such a tiny tub.” He chuckled at her use of dark humor, though the tension between them was palpable.

 

“What did I do wrong, Harry?” He frowned, his eyebrows knitting from confusion as his Emerald eyes avoided her gaze. “Tonight I said or did something that bothered you, what was it?” She sighed deeply, shoulders slumping as she played with the creases on the tablecloth. “It frustrates me to no end how some things about you are just entirely undecipherable to me. I never know completely what you are thinking or feeling… You have this barrier around you, around your heart.”

 

“No one knows me like you do, Hermione.” She nodded.

 

She could feel that heavy energy from the other side of the wooden table. That heavy energy they almost always held when together. Hermione gently placed the palms of both her hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly.

 

They looked at each other and his expression was of such pain and regret that her eyes filled with tears. She momentarily let go of him to encircle the table and wrap him in a tight, warm and desperate embrace. In seconds he wrapped his arms around her and relaxed. He let her rub his back and caress the back of his neck, much like a caring mother would, calming her child after a nightmare. He pulled her in tighter, by the waist and they held each other for a long time until they were out of breath.

 

How wrong and foolish he had been thinking he’d be coming here to win her over, for a happily ever after, when it was her who was his saving grace and could read him enough to know that his life was darkened by his traumas and losses.

 

Harry looked into her eyes but didn't find pity, resentment or any of those things. He saw in her so much heartache and so much compassion, such raw emotions that he couldn't name. She let him bare her his soul and for that, he would never forget her kindness.

 

* * * * *

 

“How old was your son?” She asked, hours later when he had relayed to her the entire sad tale that had been his short-lived marriage to Milena.

 

“Two months old. The healers said there wasn’t really anything they could do anymore. One moment he was sleeping soundly in his cot, back at home after weeks at the hospital and then a few hours later when his mother went in to feed him, he was gone.” Harry snapped his fingers, “Just like that.” His every word dripped with bitterness. “My parents died to save me and that made me an orphan, but what do you call a parent who’s lost their child?”

 

"There's no word for it, not that I ever heard. You know what word I'd call a parent like that?" Harry shook his head. "I'd call them the strongest human beings of all. There's nothing more painful than losing one's child. Nothing." He listened carefully to every single word she spoke, his heart breaking just a little bit more, as her voice broke and she let out a single sob. Hermione had tears streaming down her face. “I would know… I carry that loss with me every day as well.”

 

“What do you mean?” He was confused.

 

“You know how Viktor Krum and I were together for a few years well into my term as the minister?” Harry nodded, though usually, he repudiated any thought of her ex-boyfriend. “I fell pregnant in 2012. I’ll be honest with you, my relationship with Viktor wasn’t at its best, he wanted more commitment and time together, marriage and I worked too much and was too focused on my work, I had no energy to dedicate myself to him as he deserved, if at least to reciprocate all that he did for me. So you can imagine I also didn’t have time for a child. I was the Minister of Magic! There was no space in my life for a baby and I found myself not wanting it. But then I was busy again and weeks and months had passed and it was too late for an abortion when it occurred to me. And to be honest, if it came down to it, I simply wouldn’t have the guts. And when I was finally beginning to wrap my mind around the idea, on the eve of the fifth month I was sitting in my office with stacks of papers, an important wizengamot meeting awaited me the next day. I felt sharp pains in my abdomen, so strong I saw stars and had to curl on the floor, writhing in pain. Soon I was bleeding and I realized what I had lost.”

 

“Hermione…” She motioned for him not to interrupt.

 

“I wished that baby gone and now every day I pay the price for it, my regret, my loneliness, my failed love life and all of this pain that won’t go away. I keep thinking he or she would be turning six if given the chance to live and that maybe its name would be something beautiful like Clara or Oliver. Now I’m forty and all I think about is the life I threw away and how I ruined any possibility of happiness for myself. I once told you that books and knowledge were fine things but that friends and courage were greater. Family too Harry, and I ruined any possibility of it for myself.”

 

“And you want a family now?”

 

“I want a man to love, I want a home with dogs, cats, chickens, and ducklings, I want a baby to call my own, I want the whole package, Harry.” Hermione pulled her wand out of her hair and accioed a letter that had been stored in one of her many drawers. She glanced at it and showed it to him. He read it.

 

“You’re in line to adopt…”

 

“I am. They matched me with a one-year-old girl, Flora… Isn’t that a lovely name? I haven’t slept properly in two weeks because I’ve been waiting for their response to my application.” Harry took her hand in his and caressed it with his thumb. "At the same time that I want her so badly, I'm afraid I'll fail her, like I failed with my baby." Hermione admitted.

 

“Flora is a perfectly perfect name. You would make an amazing mother, Hermione… In spite of your bossiness.” She glared at him, but a smile began to grow on her face.

 

From the window, Hermione could see the sun come up, the dawn, _la aurora_ , and she looked forward to the new days to come. More importantly, she looked forward to going through them with Harry.

 

Exhausted, they bid each other goodnight, though the sun was shining inside and each retreated to their respective rooms.


	4. The advent

December 20th 2018

The entire day had been spent at home. After waking well past noon they ate a lunch of salad, bread, cheese and olives accompanied by wine, while Hermione gathered all of her Christmas decorations from different parts of the house so they could bring some of the holiday cheer inside. Harry kept busy hanging Christmas lights outside every single window while Hermione assembled the large and exuberant green tree. After a pause for tea they began hanging the ornaments and ribbons of traditional plaid reds, glittery golds that contrasted against the green and smaller polka dotted ribbons attached to the multicolored balls. Every once in a while, she would share with him the history of one ornament or another, some had been her parents’, others were inherited from her grandparents or bought for a bargain in an antique store. He would listen to her stories attentively and with a certain amount of wonder because he couldn’t remember having all that many beautiful and memorable Christmases and in the past years, he had gone by without really celebrating or regarding the day as anything special. It was simply impossible to feel any season cheer when alone at the end of the year.

They worked together on making the golden and twinkling lights of the tree perfect, Ella Fitzgerald playing in the background and a warm fire burning in the hearth. It was dark outside and they were both rather tipsy from sipping wine all day. As he hung yet another delicate ornament on the tree, he raised his green eyes to look at her. The gold of the stringed lights and fire reflected on her delicate skin and hair, her curls a beautiful golden and her big brown eyes shined as they met with his, her lips curving into a smile. She was mesmerizing and his heart skipped a beat.

“What?” she asked him softly, voice slightly hoarse, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“You’ll be the death of me…” She furrowed her eyebrows quizzically, head slightly fuzzy from the drink.

“And why is that?” She breathed out and his fingers grazing her cheek and softly touching her hair caught her off guard. She hated that her voice hitched.

“You’re beautiful, Hermione…” He told her. She hadn’t even words to respond to that, which was a rarity. She always had something to say…

Harry’s words and the way he said it, so tenderly, so lovingly it made her skin tingle and awoke the butterflies in her belly. She was intelligent, clever, brilliant, hardworking, inventive and brave, but she so rarely considered herself beautiful. Pretty, yes, especially when she made an effort, but beautiful?

December 23rd 2018

The past days had been of exploring the city of Rome, night and day. They visited churches, museums, monuments, fountains, dined at the finest ristorantes and pizzerias but also in the simplest and underground of places. They visited the old catacombs of Rome with its paintings on the wall and skeletons, having only a candle each for lighting the path. They toured at the Coliseum and the old senate building and admired the giant Christmas trees adorning the largest piazzas.

On Saturday night Hermione dragged him out of his bed, the lazy arse, and despite her aching feet from walking so much all day long they went out to dance old Italian jazz and mambo at a club not too far from her flat.

Laying in her bed at night, she simply couldn’t avoid thinking how his very touch sent electric currents to her system, making her burn inside more and more, her entire being pulsing with life, energy and a burgeoning desire. She thought of when they apparated home, just a few hours ago, tipsy and laughing and how she was certain his hands holding her against him grazed her skin ever so lightly and his fingertips enjoyed wandering down to her bum. She thought of the exhilarating feeling she experienced, the power she had over him as they danced and she pressed herself against him, her arms snaking around his neck, their lips just inches apart, her fingers and nails softly grazing the little hairs at the back of his head or his outgrown beard.

It was always like this between them, a little touch here, another there, a constant and overwhelming game of cat and mouse. But she couldn’t deny that it excited her. Harry couldn’t deny that he loved the adrenaline of it, but as the days passed and they were finding less and less to do outside of this flat he found himself more and more longing for the weight of her on top of him, her scent of vanilla, honey and J’adore Dior perfume that drove him mad with desire, her soft skin pressed against his.

* * * * *

December 24th, 2018

It was a rarity but today, Christmas Eve, he awoke before she did. He decided to prepare her a special breakfast, but just as he was cracking an egg inside the small cast iron frying pan an owl flew in from the window he’d left open, a letter between her beak. He set the egg aside, cleaned his hands on the bright pink apron he wore and took the envelope with the fancy waxed crest from the messenger bird. He fed her a little treat and after grabbing it she flew off again.

He placed the envelope on top of the dining table and continued on cooking to the sound of Eartha Kitt. Before everything was ready, Hermione emerged from her bedroom dressed in her silk light blue camisole with matching robe, wool socks on her feet and curls slightly disheveled. Harry rolled his eyes because even in sleep nothing escaped her.

“Buongiorno, tesoro.” He greeted her with a wink as she took a seat, pouring coffee into her favorite mug. She eyed him with those brown eyes of hers and he kissed her on the cheek.

“Buongiorno, Harry…” She mumbled, “What are you up to today?” He grinned at her and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Nothing much, love, but you know, it is Christmas Eve.” She took a sip of her coffee and was pleased that he’d finally been able to brew it the way she liked it. As she put her mug down again on the table she caught sight of the envelope and suddenly she froze all over. She recognized the crest, it was the answer she’d been waiting for.

Harry followed her gaze to the envelope and just how it seemed to change her humor all of a sudden.

“Is that what I think it is?” She nodded slowly, grabbing for his hand. Her fingers were cold against his warm touch and he knew it was because of her nerves.  
“You read it Harry…” He didn’t object and sat on the chair across from her, opening the envelope and unfolding the thick cream-colored paper inside. He frowned once his eyes caught sight of the words. It could very well be Russian or Chinese to him.

“Unfortunately, it’s in Italiano ‘Mione.” He handed it to her and she huffed. He watched her expression as her quick eyes scanned the document. Her thick dark eyebrows were furrowed and she bit her bottom lip as she usually did when in deep concentration. He watched as her eyes grew wide and soon, he was just as anxious as she flipped to the next page, reading its contents as well. In the end she was quiet, breathless and tears pooled into her eyes.

A long few minutes of silence passed and he could hardly hold in his anticipation. Her eyes finally locked with his and he laced his fingers with hers as she set the papers back on the table. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“For fuck’s sake Hermione, tell me already!”

“Application approved, interview approved, home visit approved…” He couldn’t help but smile as he took in the meaning of her words. “Sh-she’s going to be mine, Harry. I’m going to be a mum!” Tears were falling from her eyes and she was sobbing, but a smile was on her face as he looked at her. He squeezed her hands again, he too bubbling over with emotion. He thought of their emotional conversation days ago, how much she wanted to be a mother, how much she had hoped and wished for this child, her second chance. Flora.

“You’re already her mum love, I’m sure it was written in the stars, even if you never believed in that sort of thing.”  
They both rose from the table and Hermione awkwardly placed the breakfast dishes inside the sink. Harry went about storing things back in the fridge until she suddenly tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to look at her and nearly fell backward as she pressed her lips against his, her fingers burying themselves in his raven hair.

He closed his eyes and kissed her back, taking in the sweetness and coffee flavor of her mouth, his arms pulling her by the waist and closer to him. At first tender, their kiss gradually became more heated and their tongues battled for dominance. Their lips parted from each other when air was a necessity and upon opening his eyes to the image of her pressed against him, skin flushed, lips swollen, breathing shallow, brown eyes dark with desire… He knew what it meant. She was inviting him, urging him and Harry would be damned if he didn’t accept.

She wanted him and he wanted her.

He loved her and she loved him back, no other words were needed, they’d been stupid enough already.

“Stay with me, please, Harry.” Her eyes were overflowing with love as she looked into his. He could only nod before he pulled her in for another passionate kiss and he pushed her against the kitchen wall, her hands tugging on his shirt, fighting to take it off, feel his skin against hers, dying to be completely taken and ravished by him like she’d always dreamt. And he did.

* * * * *

Christmas came and passed and the two were busy turning the office slash guest room into a nursery, painting the walls periwinkle blue, little clouds here and there. A crib made of wood with floral bedding now stood where the Victorian iron bed once did and books, toys, and fairy lights decorated the room of the little person who would be their greatest Christmas gift.

Flora Granger Potter arrived home on boxing day, December 26th, a beautiful evening and Rome covered in snow. She had a full head of dark brown curls and large hazel eyes that were clever and intelligent even in her young age. She hadn’t taken her first steps yet, but from the moment she had been placed in a crying Hermione Granger’s arms by the social services witch, all three knew that they belonged to one another.

Hermione couldn’t stop looking at her, her baby, her daughter sleeping soundly in Harry’s arms sitting in a rocking chair by the window, yellow quilt covering them both, his raven hair messy as always and the beard he had kept because he knew that she loved it. Hermione had found it, finally, the happiness she had left England seeking.

And Harry, feeling the warmth of his child, this one truly meant to be in his hold and feeling the woman he loved, had always loved, gazing at him… He knew this roman holiday would change his life, he never thought that it would be so much and so wonderfully. He was at home, finally, and his heart at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to us all!


End file.
